Chapter 5

As morning light filtered through the blinds, the lock finally turned.

Graham opened the door and came in.

He went straight to the bed, sat on the edge, and took the hand I'd left outside the covers.

"Natalie, I'm sorry." His voice was thick and hoarse. "She took sleeping pills when we weren't looking. They had to pump her stomach, and it took half the night. I had to stay to sign the paperwork."

I sat up, pulled my hand free, and threw back the covers to get out of bed.

He got up and followed me, his gaze passing over the empty luggage rack as he finally noticed something was wrong.

"Where are the bags? Our flight's at ten. We need to get a car to the airport."

"Don't bother. The honeymoon's canceled."

Graham froze.

He strode over to the desk and started using my laptop.

After a few seconds of staring at the screen, his expression darkened.

"What are you doing?" He turned to look at me. "You just threw away thousands of dollars in cancellation fees? We could've switched to an evening flight, or tomorrow—"

"You should've known this trip was ruined the moment you walked out that door last night."

I set down my water glass, its base striking the tabletop with a sharp clink.

Graham stepped forward and pulled me into his arms, resting his chin on top of my head, his embrace so tight that I could feel him trembling.

"I'm sorry… I got my priorities wrong. Natalie, please don't do this. It took us seven years to get here. Give me a chance. We only just got married."

I stood in his arms, listening to his pounding heart, without lifting my hands to hold him the way I used to.

"All right. I'll give you a chance." I pushed him back by the shoulders and looked him straight in the eye. "But from now on, there are three boundaries."

Graham nodded immediately. "Tell me."

"First, anything left to settle from the wedding gets handled openly, through email and business accounts. No private meetings between you two. Second, you stop handling things in her personal life. Third, you don't tell her a single word about what goes on between us."

Without a moment's hesitation, he pulled out his phone, brought up Sienna's number, and typed a message in front of me.

[The coordination team will handle all remaining hotel arrangements and expenses. Please don't contact me privately again.]

The message went through.

He showed me the screen.

"Is that okay? I'll do whatever you ask."

I looked at the message he'd sent and nodded.

That afternoon, we checked out and went back to our apartment in the city.

Sunlight slanted through the window, shining through the glass jar at the corner of the desk.

Seven blue-green glass stones lay still at the bottom, catching the light with a soft glow.

Looking at them, I set a boundary for myself: every time he knew exactly what mattered to me and chose to cross that line anyway, I would take one away.

Once the seven stones were gone, seven years of love would turn to dust.

Two evenings later, we went to the supermarket together to buy household essentials.

Graham went to get a shopping cart, leaving me the car keys.

I sat in the passenger seat, and the car's Bluetooth automatically connected to his phone.

The dashboard screen lit up, showing two answered calls at the top of the call history.

Ten minutes earlier, a call lasting four minutes and twenty seconds.

There was no name attached, but I recognized the digits. It was Sienna's number.

Graham opened the door and got in, handing me a bag of hot coffee.

I looked at the screen and asked him outright, "Who were you on the phone with?"

His hand paused on the seat belt, then he started the car as though nothing were wrong.

"Oh, there was a dispute over Sienna's hotel deposit. The front desk couldn't reach her, and she called to ask me for the coordinator's email address. It wasn't personal. Just something left to sort out."

"You promised me there would be no more private contact."

"This was just an exception for her checkout, Natalie."

He pressed the accelerator, a hint of exasperation creeping into his voice.

"I couldn't just hang up on her. It takes time to hand everything over properly. Don't be so sensitive."

I said nothing else, turning to watch the streets rush past the window.

When we got home, Graham went to take a shower.

I walked over to the desk and unscrewed the jar's metal lid.

I took out one stone and gently slipped it into the old cotton-and-linen pouch in the drawer beside it.

Six stones remained in the jar.

I put the lid back on.

For the first time in our seven years together, I'd put a clear time limit on how much longer I would wait.